She understood.

She had a proud, passionate nature; she rebelled at this.

Invitations were declined at first on pink note-paper with gaudy flowers in a corner, afterwards on cream-laid vellum, when she saw what the great folk did.
And so the days went on, he telling her of his life from his boyhood up--all but the one thing! But that one thing she came to know, partly by instinct, partly by something he accidentally dropped, partly from something Jacques once said to him.

Well, what did it matter to her?
He would go back; she would remain.

It didn't matter .-- Yet, why should she lie to herself?
It did matter.